


3am Phone Calls

by ceeba



Series: Post Break-Up Fic [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Break Up, idiots in love are idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceeba/pseuds/ceeba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt "i still have your phone number memorized even though i haven’t called you since we split and somehow i remembered it even though i’ve had like six shots of bourbon and hey, i know you’re pissed that you’re here at this dingy club at 3 in the morning to pick my drunk ass up, but you have to admit that’s pretty impressive" from this post http://thehalcyonclubwritingprompts.tumblr.com/post/132518177311/post-breakup-aus. I am apparently incapable of not writing a happy or at least hopeful ending. Sorry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	3am Phone Calls

Dean is drunk. Not that that is all that surprising, but tonight is a whole other level of drunk. He’s been doing shots on his own at this bar since he finished work at six, talking about nothing with the bartender in between staring into his half-empty beer, trying not to think about anything at all. The guy behind the bar is flirting and he’s cute, but he’s all wrong – short and blonde and smirking. He’s the polar opposite of what Dean wants right now, but maybe that’s exactly what he needs.

Yeah. He needs something that isn’t dark, messy hair and ridiculously deep blue eyes. He doesn’t need soft smiles and gentle touches, because he doesn’t need _Cas_.

Stupid Cas with his stupid _we want different things_ ’ and his idiotic _its better this way_ ’s. Dean thinks Cas is dumb as shit, because he doesn’t see any other better way than what they had, not in any version of the world.

Dean groans and lets his head fall against the bar. He’s not going to cry here, not now. It’s been weeks and he is not that guy. He’ll just stay down here for a moment where it’s cold and dark and quiet and then he’ll lift his head back up and wear his sluttiest smile and go home with the bartender. Easy.

“Look, man, how about I call someone to come pick you up?” a voice says.

Dean turns his head to see the bartender looking down at him. _Pitying_ him. “Phones dead,” Dean mumbles in response.

“You got any of those numbers memorised, buddy?”

Dean snorts. Who even memorises numbers anymore? He’s about to unleash his best sarcastic reply on the guy until he remembers. _Shit_. “Uh. One. But you can’t call him.”

“Ah,” Bartender says – Dean really should remember his name by now. “The guy you’re trying to drink out of your thoughts, huh? Look, you’ve got two options. Either I call you a cab and some stranger takes you home when you can barely walk and you’ll probably puke all over his car, or I can call your friend.”

“I could drive. I drive all the time.”

Bartender laughs. “Not a chance. Swiped your keys hours ago.”

“Douche,” Dean mutters, but really he’s thinking _thank god_. He’s not exactly known for his stellar drunken choices, after all.

“Come on, man. It’s coming up to three am, gotta close up soon.”

Dean pauses for a long moment before grumbling, “gimme a napkin.”

Bartender hands him one with a pen. Dean sighs and sits up. He curses himself for only knowing two numbers off by heart. He memorised Sammy’s as soon as he got it, just in case of emergencies, but Sammy is half way across the country and literally not an option. And the other? Well, when Dean had first met Cas he had accidentally thrown the sheet of paper with his number away and had to fucking stalk around the streets outside Cas’ work until he met him again. That time when he’d been given the number, he’d committed it to memory immediately just in case. Until recently, he’d never had a reason to forget it.

_Damn it_ , he thinks, handing over the napkin. He buries his face into his arms and resolutely does not listen to the conversation the barman is having with Cas on the phone. He closes his eyes and starts a chant of _he won’t come he won’t come he won’t com_ e in his head, not knowing if he wishes that were true or not.

He loses time and a little bit of consciousness with his head on the bar and nearly jumps a mile when he hears the tired _hello Dean_ from behind him.

Dean sits up quickly. “Huh. You came,” he says. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Of course Cas is here. He’s the most selfless person Dean has ever met and if his stupidly drunk ex-boyfriend calls him to pick him up at 3am then you bet your ass he’ll do it. Idiot.

Cas looks uncomfortable and Dean winces, the all too familiar guilt setting in. What the fuck is he even doing? He never should have given Cas’ number to the bartender, should’ve crawled home on his own and dealt with his stupidity himself. He always has been selfish, he thinks, he should have at least taken that from this whole breakup mess.

“Don’t give me that face,” Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Come on, up.”

“Cas, I –” he starts, slipping off the bar stool onto his feet and stumbling.

Cas sighs and catches him with an arm around his waist. He nods his thanks to the barman and guides Dean outside, grip tight, teeth gritted. “No talking,” he tells Dean. “Let’s just get you home.”

 

The worst part, Dean thinks, is that this was Cas’ home, too. Not only has Dean dragged him out of bed at three am but he has also made him come to this stupid apartment, too, full of memories and history and pain. He is officially the worst.

He lets Cas guide him through the halls and drop him onto the bed. He rolls over onto his side, groaning, making unseen grabby hands at Cas as he disappears from the room. Dean wants to cry, but then Cas is coming back with a packet of pills and a large glass of water.

“Can you sit up for me?” he asks, sitting down on the side of the bed. He’s too far away, is always too far away.

Dean can’t hold it in any longer. He buries his face in his pillow and lets the tears fall. He hasn’t cried over this yet. He’s spent the last few weeks in denial, pretending none of it was happening. Now he wishes he’d cried sooner. Maybe if he had then he wouldn’t be doing it in the middle of the fucking night in front of Cas himself.

The bed shifts and he can hear Cas sighing before a hand comes out to stroke through his hair. Dean turns away from the touch. He doesn’t deserve to be comforted.

“Dean,” Cas whispers. He reaches out again, touches Dean’s back. “Look at me, Dean, please.”

Dean does, he never could say no to Cas. He turns his head on the pillow and looks up, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” Cas says, running his hand through Dean’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, fuck, Cas, this is – _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have let him call you, it was stupid, and I just –”

Cas shushes him, cupping his face. “I’m glad you called me. Just… never run off on your own in this state, ok? Always, _always_ call me first.”

Dean looks away, guilt swooping back in. Cas was always too good for him; Dean is lucky he got the few years he did with him.

“Dean, when that man phoned me… it’s the middle of the night. There are only a handful of reasons somebody calls in the middle of the night. And he said your name and I just –” he cuts himself off, voice shaky. “I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

“M’sorry, Cas,” Dean says, reaching up shakily and brushing a thumb under Cas’ damn eye. “I’m ok, I’m here.”

Cas catches Dean’s hand and holds it against his face. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you with you not knowing how much I – with you thinking that I don’t –”

“Cas?”

Cas shakes his head, turning his head to kiss Dean’s palm before releasing it. “Tomorrow. I’m not having this conversation with you half unconscious, ok?”

Dean smiles weakly. “You’ll still be here in the morning?”

Cas sighs and nods before saying, sternly, “But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Of course,” Dean says, biting back his smile.

 

Cas is a damned liar, though, because when Dean wakes up in the middle of the night, sweaty and disgusting and every part of him aching, Cas is fast asleep on the chair across the room from the bed with his favourite old blanket thrown over him.

 

 

The next time Dean wakes up, sunlight is streaming through the curtains and Cas is nowhere to be seen. He panics for half a minute until he hears a loud crash from the kitchen followed by an exasperated curse. He smiles, pressing it into his pillow for a moment before he pushes himself up gingerly.

He feels like hell. His head is pounding and he’s shaking like a leaf, but at least he doesn’t wanna puke.

_And Cas is here_ , Dean thinks. _He stayed_.

Dean changes out of last night’s clothes and into a fresh t shirt and pyjama pants before splashing some cold water on his face. He looks as awful as he feels but Cas has seen him looking worse so he doesn’t care too much. He shuffles through to the kitchen, half hiding behind the door. Now that he can see Cas, who is turning something – bacon, by the smell of it – over in a pan with his back to Dean, he doesn’t know what to do. Cas was more than kind to him last night but what if this morning he’s just pissed off? What if the fear of something happening to Dean has worn off and now he’s just gonna walk straight back out the door again?

The coffee machine buzzes to announce it’s ready and Cas turns, catching sight of Dean as he does. Dean holds his breath.

“You look terrible,” Cas tells him, biting back a smile.

“Trust me, I feel it,” Dean says. He moves to the kitchen island and climbs shakily onto one of the stools. He takes a deep breath in preparation for the conversation he knows has to happen. “Cas, I –”

“You hungry?” Cas interrupts him. “I made your favourite hangover breakfast, everything gross and fatty from the fridge on one plate.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Cas.”

Cas shrugs it off, plating up the food and placing it in front of Dean. He pours two cups of coffee, filling one with sugar and cream before handing the black one to Dean.

“Looks great. You not eating?” Dean asks.

“Had some toast before you woke up,” Cas tells him. He watches over the rim of his coffee cup as Dean tucks in hungrily before announcing, apropos of nothing, “So, I think I should move back in.”

Dean chokes, spluttering crumbs over the table. When he looks up, Cas is smirking into his cup. _That bastard_ , Dean thinks, _he did that on purpose_.

He puts down his fork and eyes Cas, trying to figure out the catch. “Cas, you left for a reason. What’s changed?”

“I left because I’m an idiot,” Cas says sheepishly. “I got it into my head that you didn’t want me, _this_ , the same way I did. You kept talking about things you wish you could do, about things you used to do, and I figured… I don’t know, that you were just passing time until something better came along. I spoke to Meg about it and she –”

“You spoke to _Meg_? Really, Cas?” Dean groans. “Of course you did. She has wanted me gone since we met, Cas.”

“It’s not her fault,” Cas tells him. “She made some stupid comment about how I was just a bit of fun until something more exciting came along and – don’t look at me like that, I _know_ it’s stupid. But Dean, I – I want everything with you and I thought you knew that. And when I thought that you didn’t want that, I figured I should go before it got any worse. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Dean tells him. “I do, Cas, I want all of it.”

“I know that now,” Cas says, ducking his head. “Sam called. He told me about the ring.”

“That _traitor_ ,” Dean huffs, “I'll kill him.”

“I was going to call you, I was just trying to figure out how to apologise for doubting you. You just happened to get blind drunk and beat me to it.”

“Guess we’re both idiots. But Cas, you’re not totally wrong about me. I’m not selfless like you are, I’m not good like you. Maybe you were right to –”

“Stop,” Cas says, serious again. “Please don’t, Dean. You’re the best man I know, and I won’t have you talking about yourself like that.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles. “Sorry for… god, everything.”

Cas shakes his head. “This ones on me. Now are you gonna keep trying to talk me out of this or can I move my shit back in? Because my brother is great and all but his couch is the worst thing I’ve –”

Dean cuts him off, crossing the distance in two short strides and grabbing Cas’ face, kissing him silent. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, opening his legs and bringing Dean to stand between them.

When Cas finally does pull away, he frowns. “You taste disgusting.”

“Shut up. Not my fault you can’t resist me.”

“Oh, it’s entirely your fault,” Cas tells him.

Dean smiles, pressing his lips against Cas’ temple and staying there for a moment. “Sorry I called you in the middle of the night,” he says eventually.

“I’m not. Besides, hey, pretty impressive you still know my number off by heart.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t take any risks after that first time,” Dean shrugs.

Cas grins, kisses him quickly again. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Dean grumbles, “Even if you are a dumbass.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums, kissing along Dean’s jaw. His hand slips down, toying with the waist band at the back of Dean’s pajamas.

“You know, I should call Sammy. He’s gonna be pretty pleased with himself.”

“Please stop talking about your brother when my hand is down your pants,” Cas says, sliding his whole hand down and grabbing Dean’s ass, pulling him closer.

“Fair point,” Dean huffs a laugh, tilting his head to let Cas mouth at his neck. “You owe me some seriously good make-up sex, mister.”

Cas pushes Dean’s pants down over his ass, licks a stripe along his collarbone, nips as his jaw. “Mmm. My pleasure,” he says, and he drops to his knees.


End file.
